Lingering Wickedness
by Daniel Benson
Summary: Mysterious circumstances reveal that which had better be ended as quickly as possible!
1. Chapter 1: Her Departure

_She _was the culprit. Was Katrina Van Tassel not taking up residence with _her_, since she had rented that filthy spare room, and thus was she not listening to _her _constant flow of gossip? A scant few days ago she had frightened Katrina more than badly with her talk of child-devouring spirits that were ever increasing in number and lived wherever they desired; my desperate pleas had barely managed to motivate her to remain even then. Now they had no effect whatsoever.

Yes, Katrina was leaving at last. She sat quietly in the ricketiest of carriages whilst the coachman deposited her few belongings carelessly at her side. When Masbath had informed me of what she intended I had arrived here with all possible haste; now I realized that no amount of reasoning could induce her to halt the proceedings.

The carriage-door nearest her was wide open and I could easily make out her expression. Hers was a look of grim determination, of an iron resolve that I stood no chance against—and yet tears streamed down her fair cheeks and spilled upon her velvet dress. Even the ribbons with which she had tied her hair seemed to droop. Her voice shaking dreadfully, she said,

"I will hear no more. Mrs. Medwin has shown me certain things that convince me of her sincerity." She would not look at me. "It isn't safe here."

"What has she shown you?" said I, panicked beyond comprehension.

"I cannot tell you," she replied. "For your sake, perhaps I never will."

My despair knew no bounds. "Then how am I to—"

"Stay away," she interrupted, "from Mrs. Medwin. Promise me that you will, Ichabod. _Please_."

The coachman was grumbling audibly from his seat and he fiddled with his horse's reigns in a restless fashion. In a final attempt to end this nightmare, I said,

"I would willingly make such a promise, Katrina—if you will not leave me."

"There is no choice. I must go."

"Where?"

She hesitated, then said in a low voice, "I am returning to Sleepy Hollow."

I had not noticed Masbath; he stood at my side in a pitiable state of mourning, his hands clasped before him. Finding that I watched him, he fell apart entirely. His was an emotional breakdown that I never would have thought him capable of—and was greatly astonished to discover otherwise.

"Will we not see you again, Miss Van Tassel?" he asked, his voice choked.

Katrina made no response whatsoever; well, not an audible one at any rate. If she had made some gesture of farewell with one dainty hand, or perhaps even blown her two servants a kiss, I would not have seen it; my eyes were fixed upon the ground. I could not even bring myself to bid her goodbye as the carriage rattled past; my heart was in an awful state. I felt, strangely enough, as if I had been betrayed somehow; I felt as if Katrina had simply abandoned me, caring little whether she ever laid eyes on me again.

I know not how long I remained in that crowded street, people shoving me this way and that as they moved past and faithful Masbath standing nearby, sniffing every few seconds and with much enthusiasm, it seemed.

Ah—was this how the new century saw fit to begin? So be it.


	2. Chapter 2: Medwin's Habitation

Mrs. Medwin was a troublemaker, a black-hearted old woman who took the highest degree of pleasure in simply perturbing those who dwelt around her. The day following Katrina's sudden flight, my superiors sent me to her home in order to intercept some anticipated devilment; since I had made no promise to Katrina concerning my avoidance of Mrs. Medwin, I encountered not even the slightest shame while making my way to her home. After all, some personal matters badly needed clearing up; and she would help me in so doing.

Mrs. Medwin's house was located some distance away from the city; one rarely even saw her, save on days when she ran out of all the goods she purchased occasionally and thus was disposed to go forth into society. The narrowest of pathways led to her home; it was near overgrown with all sorts of plants, rendering it impossible for me and Masbath to travel by carriage.

When we stood before her moss-covered door at last I was quite out of breath and rather exhausted. Hesitating, I pondered what evils could possibly greet me once I made myself known to Mrs. Medwin. This led me to wondering at just what had driven my Katrina to leave so unexpectedly; she was a girl of high intellect, not driven to hasty actions. Whatever Mrs. Medwin had revealed to her, it must have been truly terrifying!

Arriving at this conclusion, I turned around swiftly.

"Masbath," said I, "I will inform one of the other constables that I am incapable of carrying out..."

"What?" he said, suddenly peevish. "You're not afraid, are you?"

I grimaced. "Far from it," I returned, "but..."

"What about Katrina?" Masbath interrupted quite rudely. "Mrs. Medwin may be our only hope, if we want to understand why she left; and, when we have that information, perhaps we can convince her to return."

Who was I to defy such reasoning? Still, my heart sank deep within me as I rapped gently on that green door, easing Masbath forward with one hand until he stood before me. The moment I ceased knocking the door seemed to swing open of its own accord; all was dark and eerily quiet as I peered into the house's interior and I could not repress a sudden feeling of dread which threatened to overwhelm my good sense. In hushed tones I said,

"Masbath—stay here."

Recently I had become somewhat more protective of him than was entirely characteristic of me—or so most persons believed. I had always taken the utmost care to make certain of his safety, only now I was showing such intent a little more obviously. In the past I would have made him enter Mrs. Medwin's home with me, perhaps even walking ahead—despite the feelings such behavior would indicate, I nevertheless feared more for his life than for mine.

With slow, unwilling steps I entered the house. It was pitch black, save for the rays of dim sunlight that streamed through the open door. As I walked forward, calling Mrs. Medwin all the while, I suddenly tripped and fell upon something strangely soft and damp.

By this time my eyes had become used to the awful gloom about me and I came to realize just what I had landed on. Crying out, I sprang to my feet and dashed madly for the door. Even as I reached it the door shut itself most inconveniently; grasping the doorknob, I tried to wrench it open to no avail.

"Well, well; if it isn't my brilliant Ichabod. Stay, child. Have you not missed me?"

My heart raced with unhealthy vigor as I faced the speaker. When my gaze fell upon that individual I found that I could say in reply only a simple, "Oh," for even as I made that utterance my legs seemed to no longer possess strength enough to support me, and consciousness departed for a brief period of time.


	3. Chapter 3: Mother Dear?

_**Miruvor: **_**How can I ever thank you for your kind words? I daresay you lent me enough inspiration to jot this meager chapter down and gain enough resolve to expose it to the criticism of others. **

_**To All Other Readers: **_**I apologize for taking so long in continuing this story, and am more than aware that the following chapter is by no means lengthy, as it no doubt should be in order to make up to you for the delay. Still, it does rather solve the cliffhanger I left in the previous chapter, doesn't it?**

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I hardly believed it to be true, yet it was indeed; there in the partial darkness stood my long-dead parent—more specifically, my mother. How queer it was that she still wore that faded old blue dress, and that she seemed not a day older than when father had...disposed of her, so to speak. In my heart I experienced a slight twinge of unease, causing me to think that something unsavory was certainly up. But I wished to believe that I was either utterly losing my head or that the ongoing events were for the best, rather than consider my own mother tangled up in the crime all-too apparent evidence accused her of. For yes, there was my mother—and close beside her the corpse of poor old Mrs. Medwin, God rest her soul!

At length she became impatient with my silence, and with a quite rude roll of her eyes Mother said in a tone that I found none too genial, "I've been expecting you, Crane."

My mouth was horribly dry, yet I managed to gasp out amazedly, "Mother!"

"Oh, yes," she hissed. "It's your dear mother, here to claim what is rightfully hers..."

I could hardly believe it when she caught hold of my arm with more force than I thought absolutely necessary, but I could not bring myself to resist her.

"You're alive,' I whispered, whatever joy she had inspired within my breast slowly fading as her odd manner became impressed upon my mind.

"Constable! Mr. Constable, sir!" Masbath's voice, shrill with anxiety, could be dimly heard as he called me from the other side of the door. "Are you alright? Should I fetch help?"

My mother became still more disagreeable. She grasped my throat and shoved me violently against a nearby wall, her eyes possessing an intense glow that struck fear into my very soul and caused me to doubt her sanity a good deal.

"Send for help," she said, "and the fellow who dared to suggest such foolishness will surely die, as will you...and your darling Katrina."

This was all quite unexpected and I could hardly fathom any of it.

"I beg pardon," I said, "what's that you said?"

To my further astonishment, she allowed her mouth to fall slightly open and then ran a thin, forked tongue over her lips.

"I said," she informed me between fits of eerie giggling, "seek help and you'll find death, my sweet."


End file.
